Harin pulled at the stopper on how water skin and then put it to his lips. The warm water sloshed around, and he tipped it up and drank deeply, stopping himself from drinking too much water in front of his men.

The Legions had instituted rations, further than the rations that he’d had to put in place after Skellen. They had too few water wagons, and now, he had even less to go around.

Harin wiped at his brow again with his sleeve. The sweat would dry from the sun, but he liked the cool of wiping it off himself. Or he imagined it cooled him.

“Sire, there is a town across the dunes to the west. It is further into the Hordes territory. There are no trees to speak of to build a camp. We tried, but there is nothing but grass and sand. We must seek refuge there,” The scout reported.

Harin closed his eyes. His worst fears. They were to be stuck in the desert.

“Water? Tell me there is water,” Harin asked, a prayer more than a question.

“We dared not enter. It - it would be the perfect place for an attack, an ambush,”

“Has The Council come closer?” Brago asked.

Harin shook his head. “No, Falamar says his men were warned off when they found them. They even shot a few warning arrows,”

“But they march west?” Len asked.

“Aye, Len, they march, but far enough away to find our carcass after the birds have picked it bare,”

“Brago, have the men ready at first light. I want the Legion moving by the time the sun is above the horizon,” Harin said.

Brago nodded, issuing a command to the primus at his side.

“I told you to take care of that, not your primus,” Harin snapped.

Brago nodded. “Aye sire, I vowed not to leave your side while on campaign, and I intend to keep that vow,”

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Harin rolled his shoulders, trying to hide his irritation.

‘Show me, Len, how much to we have left?” Harin asked his Quartermaster.

Len, his jiggling jowls slimmed down by the long march grimaced. He turned back to the wagons that they’d arrayed in the center of camp and started to walk to them.

The wagons were lined in a small ring, holding what little livestock they’d been able to purchase as the vanguard of the Council’s force. Each village had some chickens, cows or pigs they’d been willing to sell.

All of the livestock were small, water a premium the further west you went.

Len looked around, making sure that none were too close to them before he spoke.

“Last we filled up was a week ago, and we have half of this left,” Len said, tapping on a cart loaded with four water barrels.

“Sire, you should fill up your skin,” Brago said.

Harin felt his hands tighten on his water skin that he’d been drinking from. The water was sloshing dangerously low./

One of the roosters called, another rising up to answer it.

“Half of the cart?” Harin asked, his mouth watering.

“Two barrels,” Len confirmed.

“Kiever’s balls, that’s enough for half a day,” Brago said.

“There better be water close, or this march will end for all of us,” Len agreed.

Harin said nothing, praying to the gods that there would be water in the village his scouts had found.

—--

The morning came early for Harin, up before the light touched the white walls of his command tent. His eyes opened, crusty at the corners, sticking as if the night had conspired to keep him blind.

He wouldn't have second guessed it in a palace like this. “I’ve cursed us,”

“Sire, are you up?” Brago asked from outside the tent.

“Zufier above, do you sleep Praetorian?” Harin muttered.

A chuckle came from Brago outside the tent. Harin could see the outline of the man against the torches.

Harin pushed the furs off of himself. The nights were cold in the desert, but just before the sun came up was as warm as a bath. His feet found the floor and he pushed upward. As he stood he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. His head was pounding as if from a night of drinking, but he knew it was from the lack of water.

“Sire,” Brago asked.

“Come in Brago,” Harin found his water skin, hanging off a hook at the side of his bed. He tipped the contents up and into him mouth.

Little water dribbled out.

Brago brought a small candle into the tent and lit the lamps hanging over the seats arrayed for Harin and anyone else that might join him.

“Sit, sire,” Brago motioned for the chairs.

Harin fell into the chair, his head light.

“Here, drink this sire,” Brago pushed a water skin into his hands.

Harin pushed it back. “I cannot, the men need their rations first,”

Brago knelt in front of Harin.

“Sire, they’ve had all of their skins filled to half this morning, we have but hours to make it to this village. We need to move, now, or the men will start dropping,”

Harin corked an eyebrow. “They are ready?”

“I woke them before I came here, I wanted them to be ready. If we move before the sun is up, they will not loose as much water to the sun,”

Harin smiled and rose. “Thank you Brago,”

—---

The march was longer than Harin had expected. He walked beside his horse because he did not have the heart to sit atop the beast of burden in the heat of the desert.

The town, if one could call it that came into view just at the sun reached the middle of the sky.

Harin held up his hand, squinting against the sun. “Walled, with many structures still standing,”

“Aye, looks as if it’s been abandoned for some time,” Geral said.

Harin looked over at his sister, her face covered in the light scarf she’d taken to wearing. “If this were a forest, a town of this size would not look out of place,”

Anastasia’s scarf moved, her eyes showing a smile.

“PFMT, this palace is desert,” Brago said.

Harin laughed.

“Generals, Legates. Take this town, search this place. Find me wells, make sure there are guards posted at every one of them with Strick orders to only allow the Quartermasters men and women to load water,”

“Aye sir!”